


Two Years, Three Months and Fifteen Days

by Peacock_knees_of_surprise



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-11-22 16:12:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/611725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peacock_knees_of_surprise/pseuds/Peacock_knees_of_surprise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John’s life was just getting back to normal, he has ups and downs but after one year of hell, he meets Mary, a year later, he’s almost better. Then things begin to get worse again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Life Goes On

**Author's Note:**

> I've written a few chapters so far, so I'll try and post a new chapter for every week to two weeks, and I'll try and finish it all as soon as possible!
> 
> It's my first real fic so I'd love some harsh criticism!  
> It's been beta'd by a dear friend of mine, but any corrections just drop me a comment!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> EDIT: I am a terrible person but Chapter Three IS on it's way! I have given myself a deadline of the 22nd of January, if it's not up by then you may shoot me! Main excuse - I have GCSEs to do, and college to apply for, but really I'm just bad! :( Anyway, thanks xo

Sherlock had been gone for two years, 3 months and fifteen days, John had been counting. He wasn’t sure why, at first it was a countdown to when Sherlock might return - but now he was sure that wouldn’t happen - he might as well just quit.  
It was just over a year since John had met Mary, and she had saved him from himself, from his loneliness and most importantly, his downward spiral of depression. He had been so lonely before meeting her; he spent all his time in his small, empty flat. Molly was mostly out of contact with him, Mycroft continued to try and abduct him regularly and Mrs Hudson frequently asked him back to 221b, but he always declined. Mary and Stamford were his only close friends, unless you count his therapist, and he didn’t.

  
John hadn’t returned to 221b since the funeral, he’d left all his stuff there, along with Sherlock’s, and Mycroft paid Mrs Hudson the rent. The head in the fridge had been removed and the various other body parts placed around the flat were also gone, but other than that it stayed much the same. A thick layer of dust covered everything but Mrs Hudson didn’t want to disturb it, what was it Sherlock had said? ‘Dust is eloquent.’ John had subconsciously avoided anywhere within a miles radius of Baker Street, not that he had much business there anyway, he lived on the other side of London, deliberately.

  
John and Mary had the perfect relationship, and they were very happy - that’s what relationships were for, right? Happiness. Mary didn’t always understand how he was feeling, but she tried her best and she was understanding in a different way; She gave him space when he needed it, didn’t often mention Sherlock, and stayed up all night with him when he had nightmares. It was like any other relationship, they lived together, they asked each other how their day was and they slept together. They had settled into a steady routine , and John’s therapist thought that would help with his ‘recovery’. His therapist had also suggested that he started his blog again, but what would he write? ‘Got up, ate cornflakes, went to the surgery, came home, had dinner, went to bed. Repeat.’ His life was far too mundane for other people to care. He wrote one last post ‘Goodbye’ and logged out, he thought, forever.

  
Although John pretended to enjoy the regulation of his scheduled life, he craved the excitement and adventure that came from living with Sherlock. He needed that lifestyle. He lived off the danger of his former life. As expected, his psychosomatic limp had returned and no therapy could make it go away, he was stuck with it now.

  
The rest of his therapy was going just as it always had, each session his therapist tried to coax him into talking, he tried to deduce her life, and it was a tense hour of silence, occasionally punctuation by questions. It was obvious that John had things to say to Sherlock, things that he now never could. He was a constant mix of emotions, all centred around Sherlock. At first he was angry, how could Sherlock do this to him? Then he was upset, leading to depressed, what could he possibly do now? And at the present, continually passing through every possible thought, Sherlock never leaving his mind. When Sherlock had been gone for one year, six months and seven days John finally admitted to himself that there was something, something sitting in the back of his mind that he had to say to Sherlock, but he wouldn’t tell anyone else.  
John actually had a special and separate place in his mind for all things Sherlock. He didn’t have a ‘mind palace’ but it was enough, just a reserved space for the person who mattered to him most. It plagued him that he’s never have a chance to tell Sherlock what it was, he had to know, but never could.


	2. To Lose Another

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John thinks he's just beginning to cope again, when he loses someone else, just to add to his pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've written a few chapters so far, so I'll try and post a new chapter for every week to two weeks, and I'll try and finish it all as soon as possible!
> 
> It's my first real fic so I'd love some harsh criticism!  
> It's been beta'd by a dear friend of mine, but any corrections just drop me a comment!
> 
> Enjoy!

                John had steadily been getting better, more open, smiling more often and having fewer nightmares. It was like Sherlock was a drug and John was an addict. He felt like he could never live without him, but steadily he was coping more and more, until the relapse.

                It was a culmination of lots of things, he had been having a tough week at the surgery, he hadn’t been sleeping and his limp was worse than ever. It probably didn’t help that he was still counting the days. On Friday night he visited Sherlock’s grave, he did every week, he really needed it now. He sat, with his back resting against the cold, smooth headstone and began to read. Just spending time with Sherlock, just like before, in companionable silence. After a while he fell asleep, slumped against the cold stone. When he woke it was dark, and he glanced around, suddenly remembering where he was. He stretched his neck, and then realised what had woken him. The tinny little tune of his mobile phone broke the heavy silence that blanketed the graveyard.

                John wriggled to get his phone out of his pocket, it stopped ringing. He held the unlock button and the screen came to life . 12 Messages: Mary x, 1 Missed Call: unknown number. It was 3:27am, he scrolled through the messages from Mary. The first few were asking if he’d be back for dinner, further down they turned into ‘Where are you John?’ and then his phone began to ring again. John stabbed the answer button.   
                ‘Hello?’  
                ‘Hello, Doctor Watson?’  
                ‘Yes… who’s calling?’  
                ‘Sorry if we woke you Doctor, we have some bad news’  
Suddenly Mary appeared in his head, had something happened to her? Was she hurt? What was going on? Why hadn’t she called? A million possibilities came to mind, and in none of them did Mary stay unscathed.   
                ‘Doctor Watson?’  
                ‘Uh, yes, what’s happened?’  
John was snapped out of his panic and back to reality.   
                ‘It’s about a Mrs Harriet Watson. We tried our best, but… well, she’s been in an accident, I’m… well, I’m afraid we didn’t get there in time, she’s gone.’  
John’s heart began to ache, he thought he was going to have a heart attack. The person on the other end continued talking.  
                ‘We’re so sorry Doctor Watson. We’ve tried to contact Mrs Clara Watson, but no one can get through.’   
Oh my god. John couldn’t do this, not now. He didn’t need this now.  
                ‘Hello?... Hello. Doctor?’  
John hung up, he looked at the floor for a moment before he crumpled, tears snail trailing down his rough cheeks. _This is so unfair_ , he thought. John wasn’t sure what was happening, he felt like he was falling. It was the feeling you get when you’re dreaming and you wake up as you kick out, momentarily having a little heart attack, but realising that you’re okay; you weren’t falling at all. He was pretty sure that he’d never be okay though, whatever it was that his heart was doing, he didn’t think that it would ever return to normal. John was in a state of shock, maybe panic. _Why must these things keep happening to me? What have I done to deserve this?_ He got up awkwardly with his stick and began to walk. He had no idea where he was going.

                After Sherlock had died John didn’t want to go home and whilst he was flat hunting Harry had offered him a room in her new place. With no other choice he accepted and after two weeks living there he realised that Harry was really on the straight and narrow. She’d quit the booze and she’d even begun to get things sorted with Clara. All this time John had been actively avoiding her and she’d been getting her act together - mostly to impress him. Whilst he stayed with her he began to remember how they’d stuck together as children, how it felt like them against the world. His Father was an alcoholic and his Mother was a violent and aggressive woman. Harry and John had been a team, and now he had his sister back - the sister he knew before the drink.

                Once he’d found a flat and moved out they lost contact somewhat, but Harry called every month or so and told John how she was doing and John lied about how he was feeling. But John knew she was there for him again - and now, she was gone just as suddenly.

                It hit John hard, and although the tears were short lived, a heavy and unhappy feeling sat in his head and weighed down his heart as he walked. He felt like he was dragging something around with him.

                At 4am John found himself at the front door of the flat he now shared with Mary. He wandered up the stairs, subconsciously skipping the step that creaked. As he approached the bedroom he could see the light was still on, casting a yellow glow from the doorway out into the hall. John gently pushed open the door, Mary was sat up in bed reading. As John carefully clicked the door shut again she looked up, and then scrambled out of bed to get to him, discarding her book on the floor as she did so.  
                ‘Oh my god. John.’ She pulled him close, breathing him in, and then moved back to look at his face.  
                ‘Where have you been? Why didn’t you call? Answer my texts? John?’ He was speechless, he took a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak. As Mary examined his face she realised something was wrong.  
                ‘It’s Harry… she’s’ He paused, looking at the floor and back to her face, expectant but knowing , it was clear she knew what was coming.   
                ‘She was in an accident, I’m… She’s gone…’ he choked out ‘I’ve lost her as well.’ Mary clung to him, guiding him to the bed.   
                ‘Sit down. Oh John, I’m sorry, I know you two were just getting close again, I’m so so sorry.’  
They sat in calm silence for a while, John  staring into space. Then his phone rang again. It was the middle of the night, it could only be more bad news, Mary picked it up.   
                ‘Hello?’  
                ‘Hello, is Doctor Watson available?’ it was the same voice as before, a policeman, John supposed.  
                ‘He’s not able to get to the phone right now, can I ask why you’re calling?’  
 _Thank you Mary, Thank you._  
                ‘We have further information about a Harriet Watson, killed today in a car accident.’  
                ‘Go on’ Mary began to pace.  
                ‘It has now come to light that Mrs Watson was drunk, killed the other driver too, I thought you’d want to know… there will be an enquiry, Doctor Watson will need to attend…’ The policeman was still talking but Mary wasn’t listening, she was looking at John, as the word ‘drunk’ rang in his ears he just sat, stock still, staring at a crack on the wall. She was drunk, of course, how could he have ever thought she was better? He was so quick to welcome her back into his life, and for what? To have her hurt him again. John felt utterly betrayed. After all her hard work, and the time he’d spent at her house, watching her get better, only for her to end up this way. When he truly thought about it, it was inevitable. Harry was never particularly strong willed; when they were children their Father would accuse her of terrible things, sometimes crimes he’d committed himself, and at first she’d deny it but after the shouting and the blaming had begun she would just give up. Saying she was sorry and quelling an impending row between her parents. They always used to row, but when they were both intoxicated their favourite topic was the children, only sometimes traded for financial troubles - although, that always seemed to lead back to _those bloody children_ anyway. There were not many happy memories of John’s childhood, but he and Harry had tried to make the most of a bad lot, and now they were close again it was only for her to be ripped from his life by the very thing that had torn out his parents years before. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment with your criticism, it's my first fic so be harsh!
> 
> Thank You!


	3. The Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has retreated into himself, and it will take more than Mary can give to do bring him back.

                John had become a drone, he followed his routine, and he lived his life, but it was rare to see him smile. He was empty. The Holmes’ were right, caring is not an advantage, although now John had eliminated that too.

                He was a shell of his former self - a war had left him battered and shot, but there was still something of himself that remained, but now - nothing. Just black emptiness. Mary tried her best but there was nothing she could do to help, let alone mend him. His limp became progressively worse, he didn’t go out except to work, and he barely spoke to anyone but his patients, and the occasional grunt to Mary.

                 He had stopped visiting Sherlock and had not been to seen Harry at all. He began to imagine Sherlock’s voice, ever present in his head: ‘BORING!’ ‘Please get the milk, John’, ‘I may have slightly blown up the kitchen John’, ‘For science John!’. He listened to Sherlock and replied silently. He stopped going to see his therapist, Sherlock said she was stupid anyway. He continued to have nightmares; sometimes the war, sometimes Sherlock, a few times it was a horrific car accident - his sister lying bloodied and limp on the road, or head lolled forward into the air bag.

                It had been four months since the accident, 2 years, 7 months and 17 days since the fall. John had fallen into a new routine of silence and seclusion. It suited him well, and the Sherlock in his head approved. Mary felt quite differently however. It was like living with a ghost, the ghost of the man she loved. He separated himself from everything, including her. John’s new state of mind was putting strain on their relationship. Day by day they were growing further apart, which suited John, but Mary was far from happy. She knew he was going through something traumatic, but there was nothing she could do. When she tried to offer support she was ignored or silenced by him, and it was tearing her apart - piece by piece. She let it lie, she knew that she and John had something special, even if it didn’t seem like it at the moment, he needed her, she was sure.

                Although John just ignored her 9 times out of 10, Mary still tried to get through to him. She was increasingly careful around him, as any contact she made just caused him to get angry. At times she thought that maybe it was good for him, to feel some emotion.  
                ‘John I just think it would be good for you.’  
                ‘You don’t _get_ it. I. DON’T. NEED. IT.’  
They were fighting about his therapist. Again. All too often, in John’s opinion, Mary suggested he went back and tried again. She was intent on making him go, as if that would help at all. She didn’t know anything.  
                ‘John, this is a prime example of why you should go. I understand, I do, but I think you need to talk to someone, and you won’t talk to me. You won’t even talk to your old friends.’  
                ‘NO! You don’t understand. You _Don’t_. I do talk to someone, I talk to Sherlock.’  
Mary stopped still, staring at John.  
                ‘What?’ She choked out. John just stood stock still. For a full minute they stared at each other, and then John turned and strode out of the flat, confidently, if not for his limp. Mary Just stared after him. He really did need some help, more than she’d previously imagined.

                                                                                                ---

John had forgotten his coat in his hurry to leave, it was raining quiet a lot, but he couldn’t go back. He silently begged Sherlock to talk to him, to tell him where to go, what to do.  
                ‘John?’ Sherlock’s voice was welcome in his head, unlike the steady throbbing at the base of his skull, a headache on top of all this was definitely not what John needed.  
                ‘Are you okay? What happened?’ John continued walking, he had no idea where he was going, just passing the occasional person on the pavement, hurrying home and in from the rain.  
                ‘Fine, I’m fine.’ John said, out loud this time, there was no one to hear him. Blimey was that a lie. He was certainly not fine, but Sherlock would know that immediately, he was, after all, in John’s head.  
                ‘You’re talking to me properly, that’s new… you’re not fine at all, what’s wro—‘  
                ‘I had a fight with Mary’ John cut him off. There was silence for a long while, a woman in bright pink jogged past him, she was listening to her iPod. Another person oblivious to anyone in their surroundings.

‘Oh…’ Sherlock’s deep baritone whisper was barely heard over the lashing of the rain.  
‘I’m sorry John, was it about me?’  
‘No…yes…sort of… I accidentally told her…’

He sounded unsure, until now he hadn’t told anyone about Sherlock in his head, and for good reason. No one ever thinks ‘sane’ when someone tells them that they can hear the voice of their dead flatmate in their head, _talking to them._

He continued to walk, he had no idea how he was going to explain this to Mary if he went back, and she’d probably just say I told you so about him needing a therapist. He had subconsciously walked to 221 Baker Street, after all this time avoiding it, he was there again. He sat on the doorstep  for what felt like hours, the rain continued to pour down and he could feel his shirt plastered to his back, and then suddenly the door opened.

‘John?’ It was Mrs Hudson. ‘Oh John you must be freezing, how long have you been waiting out here? Come in!’  
‘No, really, it’s fine.’ But it was too late, she was gently chivvying him into her living room.

Although he wasn’t really protesting. She fixed him a cuppa and then sat down opposite him at the kitchen table. He could feel it coming, she was going to ask how he was, did he even know?

‘What brings you here, John?’ Oh.  
‘I had a fight with Mary, I.. I guess I came here on auto pilot.’ He sighed.  
‘What happened? I thought you two were so happy?’  
‘Yes, I just, she thinks I’m not well…’  
‘She just cares about you John, why don’t you go on home, she’s just concerned, she’s like you, one who likes to look after other people, she’s looking after you.’

Actually, Mrs Hudson was right, he had been a right pig, and now he was angry with _her._ He supposed she thought this was just the best way to help him. Wonderful Mary, who’d always been by his side, always helped him through, and what had he done for her? Shouted and stormed out. He nodded at Mrs Hudson, uttered a quick thank you and showed himself out, on a course for home. Mrs Hudson watched him leave, a sadness in her eyes that was almost undetectable, but it was there.

                John sneezed as he entered the flat, their flat, and wandered into the kitchen, Mary was sat at the table, she jumped up, exclaiming at the state he was in. He just rushed over and grabbed her in a crushing hug. ‘I’m sorry’ he whispered into her hair. He needed her.

                                                                                                ---

                It had been two months since John’s walkout and things seemed to be getting better. John had resumed therapy and he had begun to open up again. His relationship with Mary appeared to be improving, they were acting like a couple again, complaining about work, making each other dinner - the trivial things.

                After 3 months Sherlock had gone completely, maybe John was finally getting over, or coming to terms with the fall. Ready to carry on living. Mary and his therapist were very proud of John, he had ups and downs, but all in all he was making progress. He stuck to his usual routine, but he began more laid back, starting going out with Stamford again and even rang Greg for a chat.

                The truth was that really Mary and John were getting worse and worse. John thought everything was fine, but Mary felt neglected. He would go out to work an hour before her, and come home late, they’d have dinner -where he’d be quite and unresponsive- and then they’d go to bed. When she finally brought it up John didn’t know how to react, he hadn’t even realised. At John’s incredulous reaction Mary had taken a blanket and stomped out, sleeping on the sofa. John tried to make it better but he didn’t know how, and when he came to think of it he couldn’t really remember what had brought them together in the first place. His futile attempt to buy her flowers and cook dinner failed when he brought her flowers she was allergic to, and cooked food she hated. Did he not know her at all?

                Mary was now sleeping on the sofa 8 nights out of 10, and John couldn’t do anything to convince her not to. They had drifted so far apart that she wasn’t sure he could bridge the gap. And one day it was enough.

                ‘John, we have to talk.’ Nothing good ever followed those words. He put down his book to give her his undivided attention.  
                ‘John, I… I don’t want to… I think that we should stop’ she gestured between them ‘this. You’re lovely, but I… I think it’s time we went our separate ways, and I didn’t want to do this, but you’ll have to leave, ‘cause this is my flat, I mean, Um.. you can stay till you find somewhere else, but yeah, I think it’s best this way.’ John just started, _don’t breakdown_  he thought.  
                ‘I, okay, if that’s what you want, I’ll be out of your hair by tomorrow.’ He knew exactly where he was going.  
                ‘Sorry John’ Mary looked back at him once and left the room.

                                                                                                ---

                John arrived at 221B Baker Street at 1pm, he had a few things with him, but most of his stuff was still here. He stopped outside the door, took a deep breath, and walked in. Mrs Hudson was away for the weekend but she’d been quite happy for him to return, Baker Street wasn’t the same without him, or something like that. He walked tentatively up the stairs, holding a heavy box and trying not to trip. He pushed and the door swung open, and the memories washed over him. The piles of case files and the smiley face on the wall, the scratch on the table, now visible because Mrs Hudson had given away Sherlock’s science equipment. His chair was positioned opposite Sherlock’s, just as it should be. There was a thick blanket of dust over everything. Putting down the box on the table John walked over to his chair and collapsed back into it. For the first time in weeks he cried.

                


	4. Returning to Baker Street

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is finding settling back into 221B tough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um.. this has been a long time coming sorry :(   
> Next chapter soon, and then maybe one or two chapters until this story's conclusion!   
> Thank you!

The first few weeks that John spent back in the flat were strange. He felt like he was finally home, but then he’d suddenly think ‘I shouldn't be here’ it was cold and empty without Sherlock. His papers still littered the rooms but John didn't want to move them, although he would deny it he was still clinging to the hope that maybe Sherlock would return, and he wouldn't be alone anymore. He became more reclusive than ever as the days progressed, and was told by email that he no longer had a job at the surgery. Any sleep he got was plagued by nightmares, Sherlock died in all of them. Every night he would have a completely different dream from the last, but it would always end with Sherlock lying on the pavement in a pool of blood. He woke up screaming night after night, and tried to stay awake for as long as possible. Some days he would forget to eat entirely, and Mrs Hudson would stop by each evening to make sure he had at least one meal a day. John occasionally went out to the shops, often just to break the monotony of sitting in the flat, he had no income but his bank account continued to contain enough money to live on. At the time John wasn't really thinking about it, but later he realised that it must have been Mycroft. 

John carried on making tea for Sherlock, and Mrs Hudson carried on tipping it down the sink when he wasn't looking. After a month of sitting in the flat drinking tea and staring into space John was again just a shell, he felt empty. Sarah was concerned as soon as he had stopped going to work, but he had been rejecting her calls. She finally decided that enough was enough and went to the flat in person. 

She knocked on the door and Mrs Hudson let her in with a smile. ‘He’s upstairs, I can’t get him to talk to me, or eat… I'm sure he’d love some company’ there was a hint of sadness behind her eyes as she spoke. Sarah slowly started up the stairs calling out ‘John?!’ there was no reply and she continued on up. When she reached the door she opened it carefully and saw John sat in his armchair, staring vacantly at Sherlock’s chair opposite, his mouth moved a little, as if he was murmuring but not making any sound. She tentatively walked towards him, as if approaching an animal and trying not to startle it. ‘John…’ she gently rested her hand on his shoulder. His head snapped up to look at her, he looked surprised, but then he smiled. ‘Sarah, I, sorry, would you like some tea, I was just going to make Sherlock some tea’ She smiled and nodded, as John got up her smile stayed by her eyes betrayed how she was feeling, oh John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments if you have them, I'd love to know!


End file.
